


The Gift of a Golden Voice

by grumpyphoenix



Series: Various Bangs [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Cop Sam Winchester, Disturbed Individuals Using God as An Excuse For Shitty Behaviour, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Humanism, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Medium Castiel (Supernatural), Monsters, Monsters who eat kids, Multi, None of this is my fault, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Sibling Incest, These songs were chosen at random, Wincestiel - Freeform, violent homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Castiel, a medium with the extra 'gift' of psychometry, and former profiler for the FBI, just wants to live his life. He'd like nothing more than to hide away and never see the world, but his boyfriends Sam and Dean Winchester, won't let it happen.





	1. No Pearly Gates, No Thorny Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Work in Progress, at least 24 chapters, each inspired by a song given in a list. Because I don't know where it's going, tags will be added along the way. Anything new will be noted at the beginning of a chapter.

**Song: Dear God by XTC**

Two in the morning is worse than midnight. It gets called the ‘witching hour’ but truthfully, a lot of people are still awake at that time of the morning, especially during the summer. Two a.m. turned the empty parts of the city into liminal spaces lit by flickering yellow street lights. It is always spooky, but he can handle it as long as he ignores the shapes lurking in the corner of his vision. Never look at them directly. Castiel had learned that the hard way. 

That’s when he does most of his shopping. The grocery store is open twenty-four hours, but two in the morning is when they restock the shelves, and he runs little risk of accidentally touching someone. He’d had an overwhelming amount of clients in the last few weeks, so it was time to stock up, because he never knew when it would be a dry spell. As he empties the shelves in the cleaning aisle of vinyl gloves, stacking them neatly in his own personal reusable shopping bag, he reflects that this particular store is one of the places he likes the most this time of the morning. The lights are acceptable, and they no longer think he is stealing when he piles everything in his bag. This neighborhood is generally known by locals to be filled with weirdos anyhow, and he’s probably not even the strangest person who comes in here. He fumbles the last package and it flips out of his hand and onto the floor. As he bends to retrieve it, a man walks by and kicks it out of his grasp with a sneer and a short nasty laugh.

With a sigh, Castiel regards it, debating whether he needs one more package, or whether he wants to just leave that on the floor and get out of the store now. The man turns the corner with a swagger, ignoring him now, but his brain is already doing the profile without his permission.

_ Caucasian male, early twenties, one entire arm dedicated to a tattoo of a giant flaming cross and a swastika. Gun hidden in his waistband, confidence suggests he’s either killed before, is used to handling a gun, or he has accomplices in the store. Possibly all three. Increased machismo suggests the lead up to immediate violence. _

Running his hands through his hair, he pulls out his phone and swipes through the lock screen, pressing the lotus flower icon. As the phone rings, he crouches next to the package on the floor, looking at it as if it were a giant spider.

At the last second, an irritable voice says, “Who’s dead?”

“I know you’re joking, but I may soon be, coincidentally. It could be nothing, but I haven’t made sure yet. I wanted to call you before I did it.”

The sleepy edge to the voice is gone immediately. “Castiel, where are you?”

“I’m at Harvelle’s Grocery.”

There’s a rustling of bedclothes, and a muttered rapid-fire conversation with Dean in the background, then he’s back. “Okay. Do you want me to stay on the line while you do your thing?”

Castiel closes his eyes in relief, feeling warm to his toes. “Yes, please. I might not be able to dial the phone after.”

Silence on the other end, punctuated by the noises of someone getting dressed in a hurry tell him that Sam’s got the phone on speaker. Deep breath. Another. Then he reaches out and picks up the package of gloves.

_ On the ground in the filthy alley, a man whimpers as his life spills out in a red wave around him. His boyfriend weeps, shrinking back against the brick wall and begging for his life. There’s no way that shit is happening, cause your boys are here now, laughing and drinking. Draining your own bottle, the neck gives you ideas, and they help you wrestle the faggot to the ground. You  pull his pants down while he begs for mercy. God has no mercy for ‘men’ like him, and you’ll send him to hell screaming. _

Gasping and retching, he flings the package down the aisle. “It’s them,” he manages,”The string of gay couples every weekend this last month. It’s them. Leader’s name is Wayne.”

“Cas,” Sam’s voice is calm, but he can hear the strain under it. “Hide. Go and hide. Do  **not** be a hero right now.” He’s in the car now, because Cas can hear the sirens over the phone. That means he’s spent longer than he wanted to on the phone. Someone at the register screams, and he’s going to have to disappoint Sam, because there is no way he’s hiding.

Earlier, Castiel had passed a young couple in the pasta aisle, deep in the throes of a new relationship and barely able to keep their hands to themselves. One was a gym rat, well muscled and trim, and the other clearly a nerd, wearing a Dr. Who t-shirt. They had stood, heads bent towards each other, giggling over a private joke as they shopped for... _ Olive oil, pasta, garlic in a string, wine, cake mix _ …a birthday party. The shithead and his gang had seen them on the street and followed them here. He’d be damned if he’d let their plans end in tragedy. Sam could yell at him later. If he doesn’t get shot. He rips open a good package of gloves and puts only one on as he moves quietly down the aisle, forcing himself to breathe and not panic. Grabbing the offending package off the floor with his now gloved hand, he takes deep steadying breaths. All he needs to do is distract them until Sam gets here with the cavalry.

They are all at the register. One of them is entirely too close to the cashier, pressing her against the register and touching her hair, while the rest of them surround the couple. They’d already done something to the muscle guy, who was on his knees, blood pouring from his head. The nerd stands over him, protectively,  defiantly, while Wayne presses a gun to his head. Castiel is dimly impressed with the nerd’s fortitude.

“Wayne!” he shouts. Wayne jerks, making Castiel wince, but the gun doesn’t go off. Turning around, he focuses his intense, unhinged gaze on Cas.

“Yeah, asshole, I’m talking to you. I have a message for you, and it’s not from God.” His friends turn to look at Cas angrily, and Wayne starts walking towards him with intent. Refusing to let himself panic, he waits until Wayne is almost close enough to touch before he very deliberately grabs the offending package again with his un-gloved hand, giving his full attention to one of the shapes lurking in his peripheral vision.

“You have my permission,” He says, with deep misgivings.

Castiel the person dissolves, and he becomes someone else; a memory made flesh.

_ “Look at you,” He spits, drawing himself up to full height and glaring at his idiot son. “You and your sickness, you taint God’s creation with your presence. Get on your knees, Wayne. Beg for his mercy.” _

_ Wayne’s face loses all color. He stops his advance so suddenly that he knocks over a display of sunscreen, sending bottles flying everyplace. Reflexively, he  tries to stop the avalanche and drops his gun on the floor. It goes off and the bitch at the counter screams again. Wayne falls to his knees on the floor, hands over his head, babbling about ghosts. Typical. _

_ “You can’t even walk right. What a useless piece of shit you are. And what were you going to do with those two, huh? Were you gonna bend the muscle guy over and shove something up his ass?  _ **_You’re no better than him!_ ** _ ” he screams it, striding forward and grabbing his son by the shirt, lifting him up and yelling in his face. _

_ “You are a sinner! You have forgotten. Every. Thing. I. Taught. You.” He shakes his son hard with each word, pulling him to his face to look in his eyes.   _

_ Wayne starts screaming, but his gun is on the floor, and he could never fight his father anyway. Not even the police suddenly swarming into the store can stop him from showing his son the true glory of God, punching him first in the nose so he’ll never forget, and drawing back his fist for more. _

_ A huge man with long hair, in sweatpants and a bulletproof vest, probably another goddamned faggot, comes right up to him and just jabs him in the center of his head, muttering something that sounds...no! He has work to do!  _ **_He has permission!_ **

Sam catches Castiel as he collapses, sweeping him up into a bridal carry and taking him out of the store without a word as officers swarm around him. He walks him to his car and gently places him in the back seat, buckling the seatbelt. Cas touches Sam’s face with the ungloved hand and whimpers. Sam kisses him gently on the lips.

“Enough of that now. You’re coming home with me and sleeping in the guest room until you’re feeling better.”

The car is well on its way before Castiel starts crying. “God has so much explaining to do, Sam. Why does He let that kind of thing happen in his name?”

Sam chews on the inside of his cheek. “I used to believe, you know? I prayed every night, but I think it really just turns out that  _ we _ made  _ him _ . Or if we didn’t, If he’s real, that he doesn’t deserve our worship. All we have are each other, Cas. There’s no heaven, no hell. We make our own paradise here and now. Rest, okay, we’ll be there soon.”

Castiel is so tired. Here in Sam’s SUV, he feels warm and heavy, surrounded by Sam’s solid presence. Wrung out, he drifts off to sleep.


	2. Four Poster Dull Torpor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel recovers and watches the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/Comfort

Song: **Like the Weather - 10,000 Maniacs**

 

The Winchesters’ guest bedroom is lavish, and Castiel is no stranger to it. He loves the thick mattress, the soft cotton sheets, and the impossibly warm and snuggly duvet that they bought specifically for him. He knows that, because it was the first thing he saw when he touched it, and it continues to be the only thing he sees; Dean Winchester pressing his cheek to it and closing his eyes, alone in a crowded store with Castiel on his mind. Even that vision has muted after so much time because they wash everything carefully, just for him, so his rest is blissful and free. The best part about the room to his mind, is that the bed is a huge, hand carved four poster behemoth. Despite being an antique, it is solid as a rock and has surprisingly little history to it. When he first touched it, he saw only that it had been lovingly made for a marriage that never came, stored and then bought by Sam in an auction. Of course now, he can touch a post and see the long, sometimes raunchy history they’ve all made together in this giant bed. As with everything that belongs to him, though, he can mute it or not see it at all.

Castiel lies in it now, watching the rain through the antique leaded window. One of the brothers had swung it open a little so he could smell the fresh ozone and the raw wet earth of the garden under it. It’s been a never ending grey downpour for two days now, and he’s barely moved since Sam tucked him in. He hasn’t spoken much either, except to refuse food. At this point, Dean has come in every hour to eyeball him. Cas wants to get up, to eat and be normal, he really does. He just can’t seem to shake this feeling, though. The downtime for a possession that strong is unpredictable, and having that consciousness take him over felt like he was coated in slime. After the first three showers, Dean wouldn’t let him take any more until  he was ‘ _ actually dirty again, dammit, Cas _ !’ so he lay here, wishing he could take a shower but knowing if he did, that it wouldn’t help. He can’t wash the psychic residue away, he needs to untangle his own feelings from the entity’s, like a tangle of yarn. He has mostly figure that out at this point, but even after getting their personalities worked out of his head, the malaise that had gripped him was unshakeable. Being immersed in the violence passed from father to son, and son to victim was too much. Well, if he was going to be held in the sway of a dark and sombre mood, this was the place to do it. He feels safe and taken care of, the way he always has here. He lets out a long, sad sigh, and slips back into sleep, lulled by the sound of the rain on the window and the cocooned warmth of the bed.

_

 

He wakes up slowly, unsure of how long it’s been. It’s dark behind the glass, with the glow of a streetlight casting long shadows on the wall. A heavy body is behind him but carefully not touching.

Dean. He’s sleeping, and Cas lets himself relax and lean backwards until Dean’s lips are barely an inch from the back of his neck. His breath is hot and sleepy against the bare skin, and it sends tiny shivers down Cas’ spine. He wriggles a little to get comfortable again, plastering himself against Dean’s body.

“If you want me to kiss the back of your neck,” Dean mumbles, “Just ask.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, and then you wriggled your ass against me, and there’s no way my dick is letting me sleep through that. How you feeling?”

Cas stretches, mostly to get Dean to make the noise he’s making now. It brings a smile to his face. “I’m getting there. This room is restorative, as always.”

“It’s yours, Cas. Stay. Sam and I can get your stuff from that pit you’re renting, and you can stay.”

“We’ve talked about this before. You think you’d love it, but I’m a giant pain in the ass to live with.”

Dean scoots backwards so he can roll Cas onto his back and look into his eyes. The light from the street picks out the smooth planes of his cheekbones, the slight glimmer of sweat along his brow. He leans slowly down, letting Cas decide to stop him if he wants to, but he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and savors the gentle, whisper like kiss, and the spike of heat curling through him. Unlike every other person he’s met, he can touch the Winchesters and not be overloaded with visions. All he gets are emotions, and it makes their home a quiet sanctuary. He wants to take Dean up on his offer. The thought  of going back to his own place almost makes him want to cry.

“I don’t want to be a burden, Dean. I can’t lose what we have here.”

Dean kisses him again, serene, eyes intent. “We already do everything we can to make sure our home doesn’t hurt you, Cas. I’m not sure that you being here all the time is going to be anything but awesome.”

Castiel trembles, unable to take the next step. He’s tempted to ask Dean to make the decision for him, but he knows that he would refuse to do it. And ultimately, Cas wouldn’t want him to have that burden on his shoulders. Suddenly he’s tired again, aware of how weighed down with his own bullshit he is. Dean is telling the truth, both brothers have made room for him in a spectacularly thoughtful way, and never leaving would make no difference to their lifestyle.

“I can pack my own things, but if you’re afraid that I will just vanish before I bring them here, you can come with me.”

He can see the unrestrained joy bubbling up through Dean’s smile. “After you eat, handsome. Can’t have you fainting.” With a quick but promising kiss, he’s off the bed, headed towards the kitchen.

Castiel snuggles back down into the duvet, listening to the rain and waiting to be told his food is done, light of heart.

 


	3. Talk About The Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets used to the Winchester household, and discovers that Dean has a secret, a secret that turns strange and deadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got weird. Warnings for mentioning underage prostitution, nothing on screen.

**Song: Talk About the Passion - REM**

 

True to his word, Castiel lets Dean come with him to pack up his stuff. Since he stopped working for the FBI, he’s had to move. Several times, in fact, as his financial situation slowly declined, until he ended up here. One of the older buildings in the city, Castiel can attest that it has been a tenement for the entirety of its life. Unfortunately for him, it’s had a very long life.

Pulling up in front of the building, Dean leans over to look up at it, squinting. “Cas, this is a shithole.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” he waits, gloved hands folded on his lap, for the rest of it.

“Someone is going to steal my car, Cas. Why did we drive it and not the truck anyhow?”

“I only have a few boxes, and the furniture is all crap, I'm leaving it. Trust me.” Cas smiles and gets out of the car.

Dean reluctantly gets out of the car, coming around to join Cas on the curb. There’s a bundle of kids lounging in a tight group on the steps. The oldest, about seventeen, looks Dean up and down. To Cas, he asks, “He with you?”

Cas nods. “I’m moving out, and he’s helping me.” He stands waiting, as if for approval, ignoring Dean's incredulous stare.

The kid clicks  his tongue. “Leaving. That’s a sad day for us, my friend. He your boyfriend?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. Cas puts a hand on his arm. “Yes, he is.”

He breaks into a huge smile. “That’s alright then. Live for love, without love you don’t live.”

Then the kid sits down and continues his conversation. Cas starts up the stairs without a word, and Dean finally follows, torn between his car and helping his boyfriend.

“No one will touch your car.”

“You wanna tell me what that was about? Also, did that kid quote like, twenty-seven year old Prince?” Dean huffs, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up.

“He’s a criminal, Dean. He runs a lot of operations for someone bigger, for a few blocks here. And yes, he did.”

“He’s  _ seventeen. _ ”

“You want to go back and tell him he’s too young? Kid makes money, he has respect. Trust me, your car is safer here than it is at home.” Four floors up, Cas stops at his door and unlocks it, ushering Dean into his apartment.

“He thinks I’m a witch. Actually, they all do, all the way up the chain. I don’t know who his boss is, but occasionally I...help them. For considerations. They pay my rent, and I’ve never been hassled by anyone after the first time.”

Dean scowls. “You mean that time you ended up in the hospital. You told Sam you didn’t know who did it.”

Cas takes off his gloves. “I didn’t. I still don’t. But he ended up dead all the same. They had a kid surprise me and shove the bloody shirt in my hands. I got a ringside seat to his end.”

He shudders. “Please don’t tell Sam. I can’t testify, and it’ll just upset him.”

Dean pulls him close and kisses him. Cas can feel the warmth and love come from Dean like an overflowing vessel. He doesn’t care, he just wants Cas to live with him forever. Also…

“Ugh, now I want a burger. How are you always so hungry? Help me pack up so we can eat, dammit.”

Dean laughs and rolls up his sleeves.

* * *

It takes Cas a month or so to get used to the Winchester’s habits, and integrate his own. Sam wakes up early and jogs, no matter what the weather is doing. He works long hours, and he works hard. He’s also a health nut, harassing his brother into better living habits. Sam keeps a sharp eye on Dean’s mood without Dean noticing, picking up pizza at just the right moment, or declaring a random night to be Die Hard night, filling the house with Dean’s laughter.

Dean wakes up late during the week, and early on the weekends when he makes a huge breakfast, and afterwards the brothers sit with newspapers or laptops and coffee, talking in between whatever they have their eye on. Now Cas joins them even though he feels like he’s interrupted something sacred. When he dares to say that, both brothers laugh and kiss him, and they all end up making out on the couch.

Dean quietly takes care of the household, making sure that the money is managed and the place is clean. Their house is an old victorian lady, lavishly painted with a tiny yard protected by the ironwork fence and firmly locked gate. There are a lot of tourists on the weekend who take pictures. Cas hides, and Dean seems to make it his mission to ruin photographs with silly faces, or lewd gestures. Sam fixes anything that goes wrong with it and honestly seems to enjoy gardening. Especially with his shirt off, to Dean’s consternation and several tourist’s glee. Dean grills on the back patio now that it’s summer, and every Friday Dean's best friend, a bombastic redhead named Charlie comes over with other friends. She always pulls the brothers into a game of Dungeons and Dragons, despite Dean’s protests that he’s  _ not into that nerdy shit, c’mon Charlie. _ Cas usually makes himself scarce, but the sound of laughter warms him while he escapes to his room, and he leaves the door open to hear it.

After a while, Cas notices that Dean sometimes disappears during the day. The first few times he does it, Cas is too busy trying to unpack his boxes to really notice, but after that, he watches as Dean packs up tons of canvas bags in the back of his truck and drives off,  leaving the impala behind. He’s gone for hours, and returns with a general aura of sadness around him. He asks Dean, of course, but receives the polite brush-off the way it’s intended, and leaves it alone. That is, until Dean comes home for several days in a row, crying.

He parks the truck on the street and sits, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down. The first day, Cas watches him and lets him have his space, but after the third, he decides to kiss Dean when he gathers himself together and comes inside. Dean is wary, and the kiss is perfunctory, but Cas can feel the overwhelming despair all the same. When Dean’s gone upstairs to shower, Cas snoops.

He decides to touch the car instead of the bags. The brothers use the bags for shopping too, so he might get anything there, though emotional things tend to trump routine, Dean is complex enough to have weird emotions over grocery shopping. The truck, though, is easy, and he can drive it into the garage at the same time. Gloved, he gets inside, then takes a deep breath and takes one glove off, grabbing the steering wheel.

_ He’s under a bridge, passing food and supplies out of the bag to the homeless encamped there. They’ve gotten used to him here, and their initial fear has been dampened, although they’re still wary. He doesn’t blame them for that, they should be wary. The world is cruel to the homeless. It’s taken him a few months to perfect this. Instead of passing things out individually, he’s made up kits. Small reusable bags filled with supplies: Food, toiletries, sweets, dog food, small bundles of dollar bills. The dog food was something that he hadn’t expected to catch on, but so many of them have adopted lost dogs that it has become a trade commodity. Some days he brings a portable cellphone charger for them, and leaves it in the truck bed. He’s done that today, almost exclusively so he can check on the kids. _

_ He finds them inside the tent he bought for them last week. It had been hard to get the eldest to accept it, but eventually he’d seen the wisdom of taking it. It got his little sister out of the rain. Dean had had to fight him off when he tried to trade sexual favors for it, and ended up having to explain his life to the kid. Hearing about living in motel rooms and having to do anything to he could to feed his brother was enough to get him to calm down. He isn’t sure that the kid trusts him yet, and that’s good. He’d rather the kid had good instincts than trust him. Take what you can get from the nice man with the sorry past, kiddo, but don’t let him in. All the same, he wishes he would. The kids are running from something, and he wants to help him find a place that isn’t a tent. His sister is eight if she’s a day, and he’s a tough but skinny fifteen. _

_ He finds her in the tent without him, sick and shaking. In a polar opposite of her brother, she’s taken to Dean like he was an uncle, and the instant she sees him, she’s in his arms, crying. He’s gone, she says. He left to make money last night, and he’s gone.  _ _ Unasked for images flood Dean’s mind, all of them memories of selling himself to violent men just to make enough for Sam to eat, and he squeezes her tightly. He will find her brother, he promises, but he’s got to drop her off with a woman he knows. She’ll have a dry place to stay. _

_ Overwhelming guilt overtakes him on the way home from Jody’s house. Her brother would never let him do this before, and Dean’s just stolen his sister. He hopes the kid will understand and forgive him.  He’d left a note with his phone number inside the tent, but if the kid doesn’t come back, someone is going to steal the whole thing. _

_ Panic overtakes him when he gets home, and all he can do is grip the steering wheel and cry. Whether it’s for himself, the kid, or both, he can’t tell. _

 

Cas lets go of the steering wheel and covers his face in his hands. When he looks up, Dean is standing outside the truck, white-faced and nervous. Cas rolls the window down.

“You’ve been looking for this boy for days without asking for help. I appreciate why you wouldn’t ask me, but you haven’t even talked to Sam. Let me help?”

Dean gestures for him to slide over, and gets behind the wheel. “Okay, but I drive. You’re a horrible driver.”

“You drive recklessly over the speed limit, Dean. I’m an excellent driver.”

“Ok, whatever, Rain Man. Buckle up.”

 

It is nearly dark when they arrive, and the novelty of a new person with Dean for a second trip on the same day is enough to have some people watching them curiously, but that turns sour when they head to the tent.

“The kids are gone, and they’re all worried.” Dean says.

“They think you had something to do with it.”

“Ha. Yes, they do. I might come here nearly every day, but the girl left in my truck, and the kid has been gone for days. Some of them say his ghost is here, and I think they...they think…” He just stops talking, shaking his head.

The tent is untouched, though there are a number of trinkets hanging off it now. Cas sighs. This is a shrine. He’s going to have to go inside to differentiate between their emotions and the ones of the inhabitants. Also, it’s getting dark, and the flickering at the edge of his vision is getting stronger. He digs through his pockets as he talks to Dean.

“So, just in case, you remember what to do if it goes too far?”

“Mostly. I mean, I do, but I don’t remember the words.” Dean watches as Cas writes them down, and then practices them a few times for him. Satisfied, Cas unzips the tent and goes inside.

It’s claustrophobic, but comfortable in the same way The Winchester’s house is. Everything is carefully organized and put in its place. Marker drawings done by the little girl  on the inside of the tent show the little girl and the kid holding hands in front of a house, sun shining on them both. It’s easy to tell which sleeping bag is his. Cas carefully reaches out to touch the small stuffed mouse sitting on it, pulling off his glove as he does.

_ He’s running, someplace dark and dank, and he can’t tell if it’s outside or inside. The walls shift weirdly, and it looks like an old cracked parking lot with decrepit chain fences and abandoned buildings...or an alleyway, an alleyway with traffic, if he could just escape. If he could make it back home, he’d be so good, he’d hug his mother and tell her he was sorry for running away. He flees, lungs burning with effort, but THE shadow is following him, and it has too many arms, too many eyes, and a huge gaping  _ **_mouth…_ ** _ he’s pulled back into the darkness as it consumes him, slowly, painfully. The last thing he thinks about is his mother’s smile, and the safety of her arms. _

Cas flings the mouse against the ground and shakes in the gathering gloom, biting his knuckle raw to keep from screaming. Eventually he calms himself and starts thinking. This doesn’t make sense. He pulls his glove back on and picks up the mouse, going outside with it. Dean takes one look at his face and blanches.

“What is this?” Cas asks, holding the thing up. It’s tiny, fitting in the palm of his hand. He tries to ignore the scream lurking under his skin, threatening to bubble up and burst.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s his, but look at it, it’s been well loved. She’d have taken it with her, if it was hers.”

Out here, the shadows have deepened, and Cas can feel the presence next to him, pressing, insistent. “Dean,” he whispers, “This belonged to the kid who disappeared before him. He’s...next to me. Someone put this here, they meant for us to find it. I think whoever took that boy is taunting you, Dean.”

Dean takes hold of Cas’ arms. “Don’t. Whatever you saw when you touched the mouse seems to be really bad. Don’t let it fill you like that. We’ll find another way.”

Cas shifts foot to foot. “I don’t know. Dean, it was weird, and I don’t understand it. It seemed like a...a monster. I mean, sometimes they get kind of metaphorical, but never quite like that. That was a  _ memory _ , so I don’t get it.”

Dean’s face turns to stone. He takes the mouse and tosses it back into the tent. “Okay, we’re going home right now. We have to talk to Sam.”

Cas wants to go home, more than anything. He wants to shower, he wants to be someplace safe so that the crawling under his skin will go away, but the weirdly tense slope of Dean’s shoulders makes him pause. There will be no peace for his love, no peace for that little boy or that sweet little girl, unless they know. Despite seeing actual ghosts, Cas doesn’t believe in monsters, and the only way to get a clear view is to let it in. Its presence is almost suffocating now, and when it turns completely dark, he might not actually have a choice unless they leave.

“Dean, if this belonged to another kid taken by the same man, he must have come and put it here. For you.”

Dean frowns. “I know, you said that, but Cas, we _need to_ talk about this with Sam. At home. I promise I have a reason.” He tries to steer Cas back to the truck.

After a few steps, Cas pulls his arm out of Dean’s grip. “No, it doesn’t make sense. He saw a monster, and I don’t get it. I have to know what happened, and if he was drugged or something, the memory would lie, but his soul wouldn’t. There’s only one way to know the truth.”

He turns and walks back to the tent where it waits, tethered to the mouse. He can see it clearly now, which is not good, he shouldn't look at it. It roils, black and inky, reaching for him. Dean is behind him now, trying to physically pry Cas away, and suddenly he thinks maybe Dean is right, maybe this isn't a good idea. Then it takes him without permission, pouring into his nose and his ears and his mouth, eclipsing all light and sound and air.

Cas screams, his body wracked with pain and darkness. All he can see are images, flickers of impossible creatures, children kept in cages, like  _ larders _ . Men who change shape into...memories of being slowly devoured by a creature too alien to understand begin to rip Castiel’s mind apart.

Dean, paper held in white-knuckled hands, is unable to drive it out. He restrains Cas with his own belt, and drives him home so that he and Sam can do it in unison. They use a ritual Cas has in a ratty journal sitting on his desk, bookmarked with a strip of pictures taken in a photobooth of the three of them, laughing. They use padded cuffs to shackle him to the bed to keep him from clawing out his own eyes as he howls through the exorcism. When he comes to, quiet and tired, he whispers an address. Cas won’t let them remove the restraints, so they call Charlie to babysit him while they leave. Deep in the small hours of the morning, they come home. Cas hears them come in through the garage into the kitchen, and hearing both men’s voices, he allows himself to fall asleep.

The next day is sunny, against all sense of propriety. It streams mercilessly through the window, and though it stabs through his head, he welcomes the warmth. He feels as if he’s been chilled from the inside out. He’d curl up in the chair next to the window and bask in it, but he’s still attached to the bed by cuffs. He pulls a little, but they’re firmly attached. He’s been secured to this bed by these cuffs enough times to know that he’s not going anywhere until he’s released. Dean doesn’t like quick-release cuffs, and honestly, Castiel has never preferred them either. Until now, really. Hearing someone moving around in the kitchen, he yells out.

There’s silence in response, but a few minutes later Dean leans up against the doorjamb. His face is set and angry. “Let me get Sam. We have some things to say to you.” Then he’s gone, and Cas just wants to throw up. The sun is too bright, but he can’t feel the warmth.


End file.
